


Wit & Whiskey

by Veldeia



Series: Malt & Mockery [3]
Category: House M.D., Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Crack Crossover, Crossover, Fluff and Smut, Hate Sex, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-19
Updated: 2008-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4156377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veldeia/pseuds/Veldeia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One very, very angry Tony Stark, one moody Gregory House, whiskey and painkillers... Nothing good can come out of this, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wit & Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go: the final part of the Tony/House -trilogy, the only R-rated one and by far the silliest one, too. Also, sorry, sort of chickened out on the actual sex. Eh, well. My first slash fic and so on.

Gregory House, MD, placed the tumbler of whiskey on the top of his piano and sat down on the bench. With nothing particular in mind, he set his fingers on the keys and began to play. What came out was from the amazing depths of muscle memory, from his teenage piano lessons: the first bars of Beethoven's Moonlight sonata. Ridiculously sentimental. He kept playing until he forgot what came next.

He had now been back at work for a full week, and a hell of a week it had been. More than once, House had found himself hoping he could just turn invisible. He had been avoiding Wilson, because he knew neither could stand seeing the other. He'd been avoiding Cuddy, because Cuddy would ask difficult questions he didn't want to answer, and would force him to do clinic duty, which he was also trying to avoid. Most importantly, House had been avoiding the hospitalized Tony Stark, because he knew Stark would practically kill him on sight.

Still caught in his thoughts, he absently played the first notes of "Mood Indigo".

Basically, everything was back to normal. House's health was back to its usual, useless state, his leg as annoying as ever, but his head working just fine. He had his job, and his new team was finally starting to rise up to the challenges. He had his bike, he had his piano, he had his place, even though it was slightly worse for wear right now. He'd fixed the broken window with duct tape, newspapers and trash bags, but there was still a cold draft from it. He had rolled up the carpet, but hadn't taken it to the dry cleaner's, so the whole room still stank. He was almost used to it by now.

House was miserable - status quo. The stupid thing was, the reasons he felt so down were all related to people. Friends, relationships, whatever. Things that House always claimed weren't all that important. People were almost always a nuisance, just like feelings. He'd be better off without both - so, why did he care so much?

He hit the keys with both fists, sat silent for a while, then began playing "Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head" instead. He hadn't quite reached the part where the lyrics went, "the blues they send to meet me won't defeat me" when there was a loud knock at the door. House fell silent again.

The knock was repeated, and followed by angry words: "I know you're in there, I heard you play." Oh, damn. It was Stark. House had known they'd release him from the hospital today, but he hadn't expected to rank so high on Stark's list of priorities that he'd come here right away.

House answered him by plunking the first notes of Beethoven's 5th, that universally known fate-motif.

Stark banged on the door some more. The sound was so loud that it must've hurt his hands to hit it that hard.

House started playing "Let It Be", hammering the keys almost as forcefully as Stark was pounding the door.

After yet another set of loud thumps, Stark spoke up again. "House! Open the fucking door or I'll blast my way through!"

House stopped playing, got up slowly and took his time limping to the door. He swallowed a Vicodin as he walked. This was bound to be painful. If not physically, then at least mentally. He needed all the help he could get.

  


* * *

  


Of course, Tony couldn't have blasted the door, he hadn't got his armor - he had had Happy pick it up from this place and transport it back to Malibu. It was a good thing it was there instead of here. Coming here straight away, as soon as he'd gotten out of the hospital, hadn't been a very smart move. Despite the false trails he and Jarvis had orchestrated, there still might be someone on his track. Right now, he couldn't have cared less. He was way too mad to handle this rationally.

Dealing with scum who were misusing his weapons was one thing. Dealing with someone on his payroll who had disobeyed his direct orders and, far more importantly, had broken his trust and deliberately stopped him from giving those scumbags what they had coming... That was a whole other ball game. Far, far worse.

Tony barged into House's apartment, grabbed the doctor's shirtfront and pushed him against the nearest wall. "You bastard!" he growled, his face inches from House's. "Have you got any idea of the harm you've done?"

"You seem to be healing well enough," House replied casually, his cool blue eyes facing Tony's seething gaze without the slightest sign of fear. Trust him to be able to stay so calm about this.

"I'm not talking about myself! To hell with my health, I'm talking about the people who're going to get hurt because my weapons are still out there," Tony raged. "I could've prevented that if you hadn't stopped me!"

"You never gave me the full backstory, and even if you had, I'd still have done what I did. I had to stop you, because you'd have gotten yourself killed if I hadn't."

"And you stopped me by giving me a drug overdose that nearly killed me. That makes perfect sense," Tony said accusingly. He let go of House, who staggered away from him, fighting to keep his balance, a hand on the wall for support.

"Don't be such a wimp, Stark, you were in no danger. I had already called the ambulance, and I was there the whole time - I'm a doctor, in case you have trouble remembering that," House spoke as he slowly backed off towards his living room. Tony followed, keeping close to him.

"You shouldn't be. I'll have your license revoked."

"Others have tried, and failed."

"They obviously didn't have enough money or resources."

"You knew what I'm like when you hired me. I did stuff like this the last time you were stuck at Princeton-Plainsboro, this shouldn't have come as a surprise."

"I had no idea of how irresponsible you are. You're not just a jerk, House, you're a menace! Just think about the lives your stunt may have cost - you saw what a mess that weapon makes," Tony motioned at his bandaged side, which was beginning to burn again, "All thanks to you, it's now out there, in the hands of who knows what terrorists."

"You were only paying me to save one life. Yours. So, that's what I did," House was finally starting to get angry, too. It was something completely different from Tony's heated, open fury. House's gaze was turning even colder than usual, closing in on absolute zero, and his voice was so sharp that it almost stung the ears.

"Since when have you cared about money?"

"Since when have you stopped caring about it?"

"Since I realized there are more important things in the world, like, say, human lives!"

"Oh, and all this Iron Man stuff is purely humanitarian and has nothing to do with keeping up appearances and promoting your company, or cool toys, fame, glory and fun?"

That did it. "Go to hell!" Tony yelled, and punched House square in the face.

House grunted and fell back to sit down on the arm of his sofa, a hand over his left eye, which would undoubtedly turn a fine shade of blue-black soon. "Some superhero you are, picking a fistfight with an old cripple," he jeered, stood up again, and, in return to Tony's punch, whacked his cane with skillful aim exactly on Tony's wound.

Tony cried out in pain and hunched over, feeling unsteady on his feet. Nevertheless, he managed to grab hold of House's cane before he had time to pull it back. House lost his balance and lurched forwards, collided with Tony, and they landed on the living room floor with House on top.

House's weight on Tony's injured side, combined with the blow he had just taken, made it hurt worse than it had in days. There were bright spots dancing in front of his eyes. The floor still had the stale smell of beer and his blood. Before Tony could push House off himself, House sank his teeth into the crook of his neck, in what was either a vicious bite or the most violent kiss Tony had ever received. He gasped, and whether it was in pain or pleasure, he couldn't tell. Nevertheless, the overwhelming load of sensations sent shivers down his spine.

The next thing Tony knew, their mouths were pressed together in an equally savage kiss. They bit at each other's lips and tongues hard enough to draw blood, stubble and goatee scraping against each other like sandpaper, teeth clashing together as they fought for control.

Finally, Tony cut it off, pushing House away from him by the shoulders. "No way I'll let you off this easily!" he declared when he'd gathered at least some of his wits again, and he started wrestling House over. Even though House tried to put up a fight, it wasn't very difficult. Injured or not, Tony was easily stronger than him, and a far better fighter.

As soon as he had straddled House to the floor, Tony realized they were both hard.

That woke him up like a cold shower. He leaped to his feet and backed away from House, shocked and amused at the same time. Slightly out of breath, his injured side on fire, he walked over to the piano, picked up the nearly full glass of whiskey House had left there and downed it in one.

"This doesn't change anything," he told House, doing his best to keep his voice low and menacing. "I'm still mad as hell at you."

House had sat up on the floor, wiping his hand over a split lower lip. "Too bad. What're you going to do about it, fuck me to death?"

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?"

"It might be slightly more entertaining than having a root canal."

"I can promise you it's going to be a lot more painful than a root canal."

"Hah! You don't know anything about pain."

"We'll see about that," Tony purred, baring his teeth in a malicious grin. He walked over to House, pushed him back to the floor and started tearing off his clothes.

  


* * *

  


Afterwards, once they had both showered and House had re-bandaged Stark's side, they sat on the couch wearing nothing but towels. They were both sporting an impressive number of bumps, scrapes, bruises, and tooth marks - and that was just the visible part of it. House could predict he'd be sore for days.

For someone who was inexperienced or had a low pain threshold, that would've been a horrible ordeal. For House - oh yeah! The best sex he had had in ages. Also the first non-paid sex he'd had in a while, but that wasn't all there was to it. Not that he would ever want to belittle what he'd had with Wilson. On the contrary, he was very fond of those memories. In bed, Wilson was just like he was in everything else: incredibly gentle and considerate, always putting the other's needs before his own. Of course, that was wonderful, but at times, House had found himself wishing for something a bit rougher. He'd definitely got that from Stark.

"I think I might learn to like your style," House said, doing his best to keep it from sounding too praising.

"It was that bad?"

"Well, I've had haircuts that were more exciting, but don't feel sad, you did OK for a beginner."

"Hey, it's not like this was my first time! I'm not a beginner."

"Sorry, Mr. Sexiest Man Alive or whatever they've voted you, but I can easily tell you are, when it comes to guys. Unlike you, I'm not new to this stuff."

"Oh, and you think you can teach me something I don't know?"

"No, I know you're a hopeless case," House said. He picked the Jack Daniel's from the table and took a sip straight from the bottle. Stark reached for it, but House moved it farther from him. "You can't, you're on heavy-duty pain medication. I prescribed it myself."

"You're popping pain pills like candy all the time, how's that different?"

"I'm a doctor, I know what I'm doing."

"So, you're a doctor, I'm sitting right next to you, and you know what I'm doing."

"One overdose a week just isn't enough for you?"

"What, you're allowed to poison me, but I'm not allowed to poison myself?" Stark complained, grabbed House's arm and wrenched the bottle from him. He cast a victorious glance at House and took a long, rebellious swig. "And don't even start about 'picking fistfights with cripples', I've got a handicap too," Stark added as an afterthought, tapping his arc reactor with his forefinger.

"You call that a handicap? Don't make me laugh. It doesn't limit your activities in any way. You don't have to depend on painkillers to be able to function."

"You don't have to depend on a piece of technology to stay alive!" Stark declared, and took another gulp of whiskey.

House snatched the bottle from him before he'd drink enough to cause himself serious trouble. "That doesn't make you a cripple, it makes you a cyborg," he noted.

"Hm, it does sound cool when you put it that way."

"It looks cool too, while all I've got is an ugly scar."

"I had no idea you were so vain," Stark smirked. "Besides, it's not that bad." He reached to slip his hand inside House's towel, to give his bad thigh a squeeze. From there, he slid his hand upwards to grab something else entirely.

"That's not my leg -" House started, but it turned into a gasp, as Stark began stroking him.

"Hm, it's not? Damn. Well, you know, I'm not a doctor, so I know next to nothing about anatomy. This is much more fun than a leg, though, isn't it?" Stark said, and giggled.

That was a bit daft even by Stark's standards. The way he laughed sounded pretty un-Stark-like too, and brought back memories of their previous encounter. House's gaze landed on his piano, on top of which sat the glass that Stark had emptied earlier. Oh, great.

Before Stark really got started on him, House grabbed the groping hand and pulled it away from his crotch. As he did so, he deftly checked the pulse at Stark's wrist. Sure enough, it was clearly abnormal.

"You're high," House told Stark. "Once again."

  


* * *

  


He was high? Well, now that House mentioned it, Tony was feeling a bit giddy. A bit nauseous, too, but not enough to be bothered by it. Then again, it was nothing like the floating sleepiness the morphine had caused. More like being very drunk, even though he had barely started drinking.

"And is this a problem?" he asked House.

"Last time, you seemed to think it was."

"This is different."

"You really don't have anything better to do or anywhere else to be?"

That was a tough one, and Tony spent a while thinking about it. Sure, the truth was, there were a dozen things he needed to do and at least three places where he should be right now instead of here. He had spent his days at the hospital trying to find out as much as he could about the current situation. Pepper had handled the press fantastically, feeding them a story about Tony spending a week surfing on a remote Pacific island. Since the government would be waist-deep in trouble if the details of this operation got out, they had played along, and hadn't told anything to the media. Unfortunately, the trail of the guys who had stolen his weapons designs was already cold, and Tony was still basically a fugitive, so he couldn't do anything in broad daylight. Lying low for a while might not be such a bad idea. Besides, it would be fun, and he felt like he could use some of that.

"No, not really. It's nothing that can't wait," Tony finally replied to House, quoting the doctor's deceitful words from the last time they had met. "You won't mind if I stay a bit longer, will you?"

"You sure you want to stay longer?"

"Absolutely."

"Fine. Let's get to bed before you pass out on my couch."


End file.
